


Steam and steel

by Delitheunicorn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drama, F/M, Spoilers, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:53:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1466824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delitheunicorn/pseuds/Delitheunicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She shouldn't be afraid; she knew nothing bad would occur if he would just listen to her. Melisandre's POV. Spoilers for ADWD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steam and steel

**Author's Note:**

> A little story I thought up the other day, rereading ADWD. I definitely think there's UST between Mel and Jon, and even a little unrequited crush coming from her side. Sigh, but with that ending, I doubt anything will come out of it.
> 
> Everything here (C) GRRM (not that he'd be flattered by this, but...)

The day was grey, as usual.

It seemed to her the weather never changed near the Wall. She couldn’t attest to it before she came to the North; but during the time she stood here, all she saw of the sky was grey, dark, dark grey, indigo, and ocean blue.

The Wall itself could never change its size, but its moods varied. At times it was as solid and sharp as rock, at other times she could confirm to see it crying under the sun.

It was a queer place, full of harsh men and harsh beliefs.

How could she ever find the comfort of the Lord of Light in such a foreign, hostile environment? The men, commonly called “crows” among the King’s men, were distant; afraid of her, she believed. Even the grounds were fiends, strange lands with monstrous beasts and dead trees for gods.

But the Lord was with her, every night that she prayed, every day that she woke; when asleep, when alone. There was always a fire alit in her room, no matter how warm it could get. She could endure it all, just as she always had.

If not, she would have perished a long time ago.

- 

Stannis Baratheon everyday was farther away from her, from her watchful eyes and her flames. Could her king have prevailed in this mission of his? Could he have not?

She searched in the flames, but they gave no definitive answer. Only skulls, wolves and snow frequented the fire.

The Lord of Light had chosen for them to travel North, but Melisandre somewhat, deep down inside her, missed the castle of Dragonstone, amongst the sea. She could never find much comfort in these strange lands.

The Queen still was with her, as was the little princess, and their staff; but it still felt cold. The King brought with himself a commanding presence to any room he entered, and she would have even welcomed back the Onion Knight’s frowns and doubtful stares directed towards her. Ser Davos, in his fear, amused her.

Northerners are not at all like southerners. The men of the South were gullible: they could easily obey any of your words, change their views, and turn towards the better path.

But the Northmen would not bend and turn towards the Lord of Light; they would follow to their graves and beyond their dead trees and lustful spirits.

But they weren’t her concern, as of now. The word had been spoken, and the chosen one would arrive soon; she had to know when exactly, for she knew who he was already.

_My king, please return soon._

 

-

 

She stared for a while at the crows practicing in the yard, the bells of steel against steel ringing in her ears. Every day they further developed their skills as to prepare themselves to any battle ahead.

She did not need a sword for protection though, no matter how many men Queen Selyse gave her to guard her. She did not need help when the Lord watched over her with his stern glance.

She turned, and Lord Commander Snow was behind her, staring at her. _He fears me, his eyes reveal it_. She had gotten used to that stare of his, though. It was like a welcoming gesture.

"Good day, Lord Snow."

"My lady." He slightly bent his head towards her direction, a courteous gesture. She smiled in return, covering her throat with a few of her red silks.

"Shall we walk, my lady?"

She smiled, pleased at his request, and followed him. The ringing of steel was left behind as they walked away from the courtyard towards the outer sides of Castle Black.

She walked alongside the Lord Commander, the snow lightly crunching beneath their heels. She slipped an arm under his and kept walking with him in that fashion. She felt him tense under the wool and the leather, but she was used to him acting like such.

Many men, when confronted with her, reacted the same way as Jon…or worse.

But she liked Lord Snow’s company; even in his fears, she could see his true colors, and he was no threat…As of yet.

"Stannis advances quickly." He said, in a rather tense voice. She believed he was only speaking to seem polite, and yet…

"He will triumph in this quest, no matter what. I trust him."

"As much as you trust your God, my lady?" The change in tone caught her by surprise; Lord Snow was being  _bold_ today, she liked that.

"You know well the truth, Jon Snow. The Lord of Light will aid him, as he was chosen…" She stared back at him, and noticed how he attempted to avert her stare. She tried to catch a glimpse of those small grey eyes of him.

_There’s no need to be afraid, my lord._

She raised a hand to his cheek, and caressed him softly. He seemed to tremble under her touch…It was funny, really, how much of a boy he still was under that stern glance of his.

But there is a man, underneath the wools and leathers. One just has to look for him, at the right moment.

"I don’t believe your words, my lady. It won’t happen. These men are loyal, and would never act on folly."

"I was just warning you, Jon Snow, to take further care."

Her mind trailed off to his eyes, and in one second she imagined the flames, and could see his grey eyes among the flames again, and she could feel his heat next to hers, which was small in comparison…

But Lord Snow was afraid of her, she knew. It was her eyes that haunted him, or the Lord of Light’s presence…Or maybe her warmth intimidated him. He was so used to the cold by now...

And yet one word haunted his being, and she caught sight of it.

 _Ygritte_. A stranger to her, but it might have been everything to Lord Snow. He once, by accident, slipped over this:

" _You remind me of her_." And what response could one give to that? Was it the same red hair that frightened Jon, or the eyes, or, in any case, was this girl also a follower of R’hollor?

But Melisandre did not hear anymore of this Ygritte, and could only guess any further answers by staring at Jon Snow’s eyes. They were cold, and solemn, and hard as ice…

But ice could always be chipped…Or melted.

She huddled closer to Lord Snow, and their faces touched. His muscles were tense, but he didn’t deny her her proximity. And he was feeling warmer than before…

…Now would have been the best moment for him to be warm, if those daggers would come to be.

"I must go, my lady. My men await me." He stopped roughly, and departed from her touch, throwing her arms and silks away almost like one would do with a dirty rag.

She followed his walk with her eyes, and touched her arms tenderly.

If only he knew…If he would know, he would listen to her, and not fear her; and understand how her King would triumph, and how useless this quarrel of men would be in the end…

She could tell him, and teach him, and warn him…

And now she felt like knowing nothing.

 

- 

The wolf was a clear manifestation of the wild demons that prowled the North, masquerading as gods. She had seen those terrifying trees with their red blood eyes, eyes that warned of death…And Jon Snow’s pup was no exception.

Yet they _were_ red, much like her eyes. _My own_. Red was one of the Lord’s personal shadows in which he made his presence known, but for these trees and this beast to challenge him…

Yet the wolf seemed to appreciate her company. Sometimes, walking among the hallways of the castle, she would find the wolf away from his master and jumping lightly towards her, wagging its tail excitedly. It would halt, and then sniff at her silks, still as stone.

Lord Snow wouldn’t admit it (not to her face, at least), but the wolf held a side of him, the one that he held back. A wolfish demeanor hidden underneath a silent and solemn mask.

What would ever happen to the beloved Commander if he ever rid himself of that mask, if let out his Ghost hidden inside himself?

He ought to know to do better, she should tell him. As she stared at Ghost, whose red eyes glittered like the weakened flames left on a pyre, long after consuming, she thought that an even darker secret lay under these wicked trees, besides their disgusting existence.

Fire and blood, they both share the same color…And the same outcome.

 

-

 

 _I warned him, it was all I could do_. _If he does not listen to my words, then he will cause his own downfall._

She was assuring herself again, as she paced quickly through her room, her shoes trying no attempt at being silent.

Melisandre believed she was acting foolish. If such an event were to come, she had tried her best to warn him, to protect him against the danger ahead…But he was too trusting, too confident, too _blind;_  to notice those sharp daggers behind him.

Perhaps she should have warned him in a more direct way, even though she herself did not know exactly who were to be his attackers.

But she should have stayed with him, and given him much more protection than needed.

_He is a man grown, not a green boy who needs his mother’s skirts to feel secure, he can fend for himself…But why do I want to stay near his side, my arm underneath his own, staring at the distance, with his pup near my feet?_

He was a smart boy, quick on his feet and on his thoughts. He was cold, but Melisandre always felt his hands to be as warm as hers. He tensed, and tried to look back, but at the end would submit to her stare, grey eyes meeting red.

In Westeros, bastards were thought of as scum, as the vilest and most disgusting creatures to roam the earth. Melisandre felt pity for them, and sometimes believed Jon would have a much more uplifting future in Asshai; even the Free Cities could offer a safe haven for an unwanted child.

Yet he had created his own path by being the leader of the crows, and that road would never rot nor soil nor be buried by snow or other distractions. His path was distinct.

She felt calm, thinking about the idea of him leaving this place, and aiding her in the war against the Great Other, accompanying her, aiding her King…The streets of Asshai appeared in her mind, creating a wondrous scenario, where she could see another future…A different one.

But she already had her own fate, she knew, and it was away from Asshai. The Lord had seen to that.

 

 

-

 

He was gone.

Stannis Baratheon was dead, if Jon Snow’s words were ought to be true. Her king, the rightful king, the savior of the land from the great Other, all gone in one moment thanks to the deeds of this bastard Bolton she was hearing about.

She left the Dining Hall where the other crows were summoned, and began walking amongst the snow.

She felt numb; Stannis would never die, she could never believe it… or at least he wouldn’t perish in such a petty, insignificant manner as Jon Snow was saying. Battling over a broken castle, it seemed.

It didn’t seem right. He would have perished alongside Lightbringer, slaying the Great Other in the last moment, but saving the entire realm at the same time. That was written, it was spoken, it was known!

 _I was so, so wrong_. If he was Azor Ahai he couldn’t have died, no prophecy proved he was defeated before his moment of glory.

All those years, all the readings of the flames, all the sacrifices…All for nothing.

Maybe the Bolton was the Great Other, all along? Maybe she had read the flames mistakenly, again, and this bastard would actually bring the doom to Westeros instead?

No, that was a child’s whim of a thought, not the Lord’s lawful words.

But then, if Stannis was not Azor Ahai, then who could it be? No one else had intruded in her flames outside of him, no one but the lot seven and the ash and…

Screams and rapid running were suddenly heard, and she gasped at the loud noises: cries, the unsheathing of blades, torches being lit, the wail of the giant echoing across the yard, its potential even shuddering the Wall…

They would come for her soon. She and her king were never welcomed in the Wall in the first place, and she knew this would happen at any moment, sooner or later. Once Stannis was dead, they would run to her: rape her or kill her, it didn't matter what, the idea would be to just get rid of her. They wouldn't see any value in her.

 _The Queen_. She gasped, feeling ice was caught in her throat. _The princess_. Stannis might have left this world, but his blood still lived.

She ran towards the Queen’s tower, to warn her of the skirmish ahead. She was running, until she remembered and paused:

There was one that had intruded her flames as much as her king.

She turned back, in dismay, to the inner yard, towards the dining hall.

 

- 

And the vision was in front of her: Jon Snow, frozen, covered in cuts and drowning in a lake of his own blood.

 _I foretold him_ , was her first thought, after staring for a while.

She saw the brothers holding the daggers in their hands with their faces red. Others around her formed a crowd, yet none seemed to try attacking her. They all stared in disbelief at the gruesome image.

He was alone, vulnerable, butchered. Where was his wolf? He cannot live without him. His beast protected him, she knew, oh how she knew. And how little did he listen to her.

She walked towards him, knelt, and passed her fingers over the cut at his throat; the warm blubbering blood running through it, tainting her fingers.

_All I saw was snow in the flames, and yet I couldn’t see the Lord’s words in it. Now, they’re clear, and too late._

First Stannis, and now Jon Snow. What was left? All the readings had been wrong, not one but two Azor Ahai had been born, she knew of it late and only for them to die one after the other, with her as a witness. Was this some cruel jape that the Lord of Light was directing towards her?

His breathing was jagged; it pained him to even live. He attempted to move, but his body only trembled against the cold and the pain. He moved his head a little, to stare at her. Grey eyes, much like the sky.

His lips, trembling, slowly, seemed to mutter a word. Her name, she faintly heard, or so she thought.

She stared sadly at him; the young Snow, left alone to perish at the heart of darkness. It could not have been him, no.

She had grown fond of him, but he could have never been hers…

"You will never know nothing, Jon Snow."

She knelt even further, her head slightly touching his, at the same level. _At least, let him cherish his last moments with a small gesture of pity._

Her lips were hot near his, just as fire melts ice.


End file.
